


Kintsugi

by syntheticpoetry



Category: Glee
Genre: Blaine discussing his insecurities is kinda my kink, Glee 5x16, Glee tested, M/M, Tested react fic, also smutty smut smut, and then a longggggg expansion of dialogue, because I needed more than the 30 second Klaine dialogue we got, but can we all agree that they clearly needed to discuss SO MUCH MORE, glee s05e16 tested, pls enjoy, so have some canon dialogue, tested, this started off as a quick one-shot and turned into a 10K+ monster so SORRY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticpoetry/pseuds/syntheticpoetry
Summary: Kurt and Blaine have a mature heart to heart involving Blaine's insecurities.Tested reaction fic where I just really gratuitously expanded on the dialogue and included the missing smut scene that very obviously must have occurred off camera.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 46
Kudos: 158





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> **So during our Tumblr Gleewatch group viewing I was left wanting so much more out of this scene and it kinda just spiralled from there. There's some smut, but a lot of dialogue driven conversation following the canon dialogue where I felt like the conversation should have continued rather than end with their little heartfelt hug. The way Blaine just shattered and started crying and Kurt just held him with a straight face.... yeah. There was definitely more that happened there. So here you go.**
> 
> **Big thanks to my beta reader[Carmex](https://blog-carmex.tumblr.com/) who was so helpful and sweet with her commentary!**

It has been three hours since class ended. Three _long_ hours since Blaine watched Kurt stride right past him without so much as another word after they changed out of their fencing gear. After their sparring match they had retreated to opposite ends of the classroom, huffing in silence and shooting daggers at one another. The mutual refusal to speak to each other had persisted all the way into the locker room where Kurt then proceeded to peel off his shirt in front of everyone. Blaine had slipped into a bathroom stall to change, a mix of embarrassment and guilt beginning to wash over the anger as he shimmied out of the white pants plastered against his sweaty skin. By the time he had emerged again Kurt had shouldered past him, tight lipped with eyes fixed in the distance, leaving Blaine to stand alone, his mouth hanging open and staring dumbly after him. 

_“I just find it funny that we haven’t been intimate in like a week and maybe this is why.”_

_“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”_

_“I got up early and forgot to text you.”_

_“You know what, Blaine? Sometimes I think we talk too much.”_

After class Blaine had retreated to Kurt’s apartment in the hopes of another attempt at conversation, but has been melding himself into the couch for the last two hours with nothing but the silence and Kurt’s words to bounce around his skull as he waits for him to return. It feels like such a stupid fight. All of their previous discussions about just going to one another to air out their grievances, to talk about when things are bothering them feel like a distant memory. Blaine _tried_ to talk to him. He tried to take the steps that they had outlined. But Kurt just shut him down. Kurt didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to let Blaine try to explain himself. Instead they were left to physically act out their aggressions in combat class of all places. Okay, so maybe Blaine wasn’t being _completely_ open about the extent of his insecurities, but Kurt’s instant decision for distance and his ability to become an ice prince once Blaine had actually tried to initiate a conversation reminded him _why_ it has always been so difficult to speak his mind. 

Blaine is terrified. Terrified of rejection, terrified of Kurt finally peeling away his loosely fastened mask of confidence and seeing him for what he truly is— a coward. He had never felt brave until the day Kurt stared at him from across that table in Dalton like he was this wise old sage so full of advice and wisdom. It had been so easy to slip into the disguise, to feign the persona of a boy who had suffered and prevailed. Who was he kidding? Prevailed. What a joke. Blaine knows that whatever semblance of true bravery he ever possessed in the first place to compel him to bring a boy to a school dance in _Ohio_ had been beaten away all those years ago in that parking lot. He told Kurt that he ran from his bullies and regretted it, but the truth is he knows he is still running. That he has never stopped. 

Not like Kurt. Kurt, who had suffered in silence for months at the mercy of his own bullies and still emerged with his head held up high. Kurt, who had experienced his own hate driven assault, and had learned to become stronger and stand his ground so much quicker than Blaine could even begin to wrap his head around. Kurt, who is so much braver and resilient than Blaine can ever imagine himself being. Kurt, who does not actually need Blaine to guard him and guide him the way that he once used to. 

And it terrifies Blaine to feel this insignificant again. To become a shadow of doubt beneath a rising sun. 

The door to the apartment slides open and Kurt strolls in, phone pressed to his ear, instantly catching sight of Blaine on the couch. Blaine hunches over, arms resting against his knees, and braces himself for the explosion. All afternoon he has been waiting for Kurt to return, but now that he is actually here his instincts are screaming to just get up and run. Keep running. Don’t stop. 

“Yeah, he’s here. Okay. Okay, bye,” Kurt slings his bag onto a chair at the kitchen table and turns to Blaine. “That was Rachel, she was just confirming us for her opening night.”

“What’d you tell her?” Blaine asks. 

“I said, ‘Yeah, if we don’t kill each other in combat class, count us in,’” Kurt replies, eyes trained carefully on Blaine. Blaine does not want to return the focus though, choosing instead to tip a can of ginger ale into his mouth to douse the desert in his throat. Little distractions for idle hands and a restless mind.

“What happened in there?” 

Here it comes— the avalanche. There’s a sudden tightness in his chest as he avoids meeting Kurt’s eyes. “You were really coming at me like— like… as if you had something to prove. What, I’m not sure.”

“That I’m as strong as you are,” Blaine says. The words sound surprisingly more bitter and resentful than he had initially intended them to. He remembers his place— _don’t lose control_ — and tries to reign in some of the tension, just bottle it back up again. 

“Okay,” Kurt says and strides towards him. Blaine takes note of the distance he keeps between them, the minuscule gap that feels like the Grand Canyon. Is it intentional? “But it’s not a contest.”

“Isn’t it though?” Blaine responds with the same bitterness again. “On some level? Cause for the first time in my life, I really feel like I’m losing.” 

He can feel the loss of the control, the steady spiral into the depths of despair and uncertainty that he has trapped himself in for months. The knot in his stomach twists itself tighter, yet he cannot help himself. Once the train derails, there really is not much else to do but let the collision run its course. “I’ve felt that way ever since I got to New York. I feel like,” Blaine sets the can down and waves his hand between them, “We’re in this race together and you are just _so much_ farther than I am. Like, it just feels like the whole balance has shifted.”

“What balance?” Kurt’s eyes narrow. He takes a seat in an armchair, keeps his distance. 

Now he really has gotten himself in too deep. 

“I guess it started when we first met,” Blaine shrinks back against the couch, avoiding Kurt’s piercing gaze. “And you came to Dalton because you were trying to get away from Karofsky, and I wanted to help you through that.”

“And you did,” Kurt says quietly.

“And I _loved_ the way that felt. I loved it,” Blaine swallows and leans his head back against the couch, speaking to the ceiling. “I loved being able to protect you, but now I look at your life and…”

_And now it hurts. Now it feels like I don’t fit into any part of it. Now it feels like I have never been, nor will I ever be enough for you because you don’t need me anymore. Nobody needs me the way that I need you. Why is this so hard?_

“It’s completely different,” Blaine finishes and finally settles his eyes onto Kurt. “You’re a star at school, you have all these cool new friends, you started this band and I just,” _Say it. Stop hiding. Say it. Tell him._ “I feel like you don’t need me anymore, to protect or anything.”

There is a glint in Kurt’s eyes that sends Blaine’s heart careening down into his stomach. This has been a mistake. Saying anything at all, letting his guard down— it has all been a mistake. He springs up suddenly, anxious to disappear. “I mean, you asked me to move out, for God’s sake,” He murmurs bitterly as he walks past Kurt.

“We made that decision together,” Kurt replies, tone heavy and unimpressed, as he spins around in the chair to face him. “So is that what all this stuff is about that’s going on? I mean, you trying to get me to eat more?”

_You are missing everything. You are missing the entire point. Do you even see me when we’re together? Can’t you tell?_

“I don’t like the way I feel about myself anymore, Kurt! Okay?” Blaine’s raised voice takes them both by surprise. Through the open window, the sound of sirens permeates the post-confession silence. Blaine closes his eyes, already feeling the tears clinging to his lashes. He knows opening his mouth again is going to be yet another mistake, but so far he has been a glutton for punishment and self pity tonight, so what more is there to lose? 

“And you have this amazing new body— do you know why we haven’t been intimate? It’s because I feel insecure around you. I feel insecure around my own fiancé, and Fratboiphysicals.com isn’t gonna judge me!” 

Somehow this feels worse than keeping everything bottled up. The terror of Kurt’s reaction leaves him feeling dizzy and sick as he finally opens his eyes to absorb the blow. Somehow Kurt’s eyes exude a softness beneath the two smoldering flames. A sort of fierce protectiveness that only leaves Blaine feeling more pathetic than he did in the first place. 

“Neither will I. _Ever_ ,” Kurt responds and stands up to approach him. “But I am _not_ going to apologize for not being some delicate flower that needs his boyfriend to protect him.”

“Kurt, I—”

“And you know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it _is_ a contest. Maybe that’s the way it has to be with two guys. But I would _much_ rather be running this race _with_ you than against you.”

Blaine knows what it is to be lectured. Understands all too well that familiar feeling of being put in his place, his actions chalked up to overdramatics and oversensitivity. Looking up at Kurt towering over him, he feels even smaller now. Whatever certainty he possessed, whatever feigned strength he must have siphoned off of Kurt when he entered the apartment to stagger his way through his confession has evaporated completely, leaving behind a hollow shell. His words come out apologetic and frightened, tiny and remorseful. 

“Me too, I just—”

“As _equals_ ,” Kurt says sternly.

Equals. Something about the word flips a hidden switch. Equals. He has never felt a kinship with that word before, never understood what it felt like to stand beside someone and hold each other up, sharing the weight. He has always struggled to be the pillar for someone else, to mask the cracks in his own foundation. Something about the way Kurt says it makes him feel ashamed.

“I know, I know,” He presses both palms over his eyes, keeps pressing until spots of crimson and white appear scattered across the darkness behind his eyelids like bursts of fireworks. “I-I know. I _know that_ , I’m so sorry. I’m just…”

_I am not worth this. I am not worth your time._

“I’m just _so_ scared that you’re gonna...” 

His throat constricts because he can already envision it. He drops his hands, shaking his head, and focuses on the door just past Kurt, pictures him walking right through it like it is the easiest decision he has ever had to make. Kurt holds all of the power in this relationship, and Blaine knows that. Knows that whatever semblance of equality Kurt is preaching about right now is only a mirage. Blaine ruined their perfect balance the night he let his demons take control of his emotions and lead him to that weak moment of infidelity. One more wrong move and they are bound to break again. But Kurt does not walk away, he stands before him and continues to wait patiently. 

“I’m just so scared that you’re gonna keep changing, and you’re gonna keep getting stronger, then one day you’re gonna wake up and realize, ‘I don’t love him anymore.’” Blaine shrugs his shoulders, tears glistening, and smiles in resignation to the paranoid confession as fact. Even children discard their favourite toys once they are broken beyond repair. So why would this be any different?

“Never,” Kurt replies, his gaze unwavering on Blaine. The quiet intensity of his determination makes Blaine’s stomach lurch again, anxiety twisting tighter and tighter. “I’m always gonna love you. And I don’t want you to be insecure or ashamed around me.”

It’s only when Blaine exhales that he realizes he had been holding his breath, clinging to the tension in every centimeter of his muscles. 

“Next time you’re going through something like this you— you _have_ to be honest with me.”

Blaine can feel himself nodding without any actual control, like it is a trained reflex in place to diffuse the rest of the uneasiness and settle the confrontation. Anything to make this stop. His lips go numb, eyes still fixed on the door as the next word comes out on autopilot, drained and defeated, “Okay.” 

Kurt’s arms around him spark the calamity laying dormant though, pull him away from the resignation and suddenly he is grasping at every inch of Kurt that he possibly can, sinking into the embrace as though clinging tightly enough will fill the gaping hole in his chest. The ebbing shame becomes a tidal wave, crashes over and over again and threatens to drag him beneath the riptide as Kurt’s thumb brushes over his shoulder blade. He feels so undeserving of such kindness and patience.

“Blaine, I think maybe we should have a conversation about where all of this comes from,” Kurt presses his lips to the thick layer of gelled hair atop Blaine’s head. “Don’t you think?”

“What more is there to say? Can’t we just cuddle on the couch for the rest of the night?” Blaine mumbles against his neck.

“Don’t deflect, I think this is the most honest you’ve ever been with me about yourself and I want you to keep talking to me,” Kurt pulls away, hands on Blaine’s arms to push him back enough to look at him. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me because you know I’m not gonna judge you. I love every piece of you, no come on, don’t look away,” Kurt’s hand is immediately beneath Blaine’s chin, tilting his head back to center. There has always been a sadness buried beneath the constant glimmer in Blaine’s eyes, usually well hidden and mostly undetectable. In these rare moments of vulnerability, that sadness is always directly on display. “I love everything about you, even the pieces you try to hide away from me, especially those.”

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers urgently, his face contorting as he struggles against the grief, and tries to keep the controlled tears from transforming into full on ugly crying. But Kurt does not let him go. Kurt does not let him look or run away. 

“How many times have you seen me cry? There’s no shame in letting go sometimes, Blaine.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Blaine breathes out. He tries to take a step back, but Kurt does not drop his arms. They remain firmly wrapped around him, rooting him to the spot. “I don’t want—”

“I’ve got you, and I am not letting you go,” Kurt says. “You remember what you told me the first time we met?”

“I said a lot of things,” Blaine closes his eyes and feels the warm streaking of tears down his cheeks. He has cried in front of Kurt before, but he’s never _cried_ in front of him. The breakdowns have been reserved for solitude, behind locked doors, hidden away from the world. 

“You told me that you ran away when things got tough, and that you regretted it ever since. Don’t run from me too, Blaine— stay.”

The perfect catalyst.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine chokes out. “I’m sor—sorry, I’m sorry,” He continues murmuring, the words becoming an incoherent jumble of consonants decorating the layer of heaving sobs and gasps for air in between. With eyes shut tight, he nestles his face back into Kurt’s neck, body trembling against his steady arms, and continues mumbling the only two words his brain seems capable of conjuring. 

“Blaine, honey,” Kurt strokes his back and presses kisses to the top of his head. “Blaine, why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine shakes his head, forehead against Kurt’s shoulder. “I don’t know.” 

Now that it’s begun, it feels like it will never end. Control feels like a foreign language as he continues to shake and cling to any part of Kurt he can get his hands on. 

“Come on, come here,” Kurt commands soothingly, leading them over to the couch. He drops down, pulling Blaine onto his lap. Blaine snakes his arms around Kurt’s neck, burying his face into his own arm. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The reassuring words seem to be having the complete opposite effect on Blaine and only draw out more tears. Crying feels like an effort rather than a cathartic release. The mask has finally been ripped away, leaving him feeling exposed, dissected. He feels weak. Ashamed and self-conscious. How could he lose control like this? What’s worse, how can he be so incapable of reigning it back in?

“Sweetheart, _talk_ to me,” Kurt won’t stop pressing kisses to any area of skin he can reach. His lips are warm and wet against Blaine’s temple. Something tangible he can tether himself to. “Please?”

How do you condense years of pent up doubts and microaggressions of self-sabotage into a logical explanation? Where do you even begin? 

“You know,” Kurt runs his fingers over the protective layer of gel, wriggling them in between to break up some of the strands. Blaine bites down on the inside corners of his bottom lip and allows Kurt to continue burrowing his fingers past the barrier. He had caked on so much of it after class it is a wonder Kurt is even able to break up any of it at all. Yet his dexterous fingers reach beneath and he massages Blaine’s scalp. It’s another calming, tangible gesture Blaine can tether himself to. “I have that keyboard in my bedroom. I can get that if you would rather sing something first right now. Usually helps you open up.”

The more Kurt’s fingers tangle and twist his hair, the calmer he feels. Once the tears have ceased enough he trusts himself to speak. “Okay,” Blaine has to mouth the word first before clearing his throat and rasping it out. He shuffles off of Kurt’s lap and spends the literal seconds of his absence wrenching his fingers together, both legs bouncing hurriedly against the wood floor. Kurt returns, keyboard secured underneath his arm, and sets it up on the coffee table in front of the couch before taking a seat beside Blaine. Before turning it on Blaine runs his fingers over the plastic keys. Will it ever get any easier to channel his emotions without a crutch? Kurt simply sits and watches, palm draped over the small of his back. Blaine exhales, the breath shuddering with the weight of all he tries to expel to lend his voice the strength to begin. He slides the switch up to turn it on and positions his fingers on the keys, gently tapping out a somber melody. 

_“_ _When you come home I feel the earth start to change,_ _  
_ _I am alive, I am alive, I am in love with this place._ _  
_ _I love it most how you whisper my name_ _  
_ _And so I catch it in a bottle for my lonelier days.”_

He never has to think when it comes to music. His fingers always seem to know just what notes to play. And the words always come easier when they are borrowed from someone else. He shifts closer to the keyboard, hands steady and certain as he continues with the melody. Kurt understands him so well, knows just the right things to say and do to coax him through the storms. 

_“The moment slows inside the palm of your hand,_ _  
_ _Oh I could stay like this forever or as long as we can._ _  
_ _And in the morning I pour a warm cup of tea_ _  
_ _And hope you'll stay a little longer, stay a lifetime with me.”_

He straightens his back, puts more vigor into the tempo as he pushes past the fear and lets his voice crescendo into the next verse. The one that means the most. The one he wishes he could say without having to hide behind the safety blanket of song. Maybe someday he can learn. But for now it is easier to parrot the words that bare a glimpse into his heart. 

_“Cause when you go, like summer gives to the rain,_ _  
_ _I am uncertain, but I'm certain I am losing my way._ _  
_ _When you let go, I don't see straight anymore—_ _  
_ _I am unwinding, I am broken, I am losing my core.”_

His voice breaks on the last line, raspy and watery with the weight of tears once again. He closes his eyes, languidly drags his fingers over the keys, lulling back the gentle melody as Kurt slides his hand up to his mid-back. He continues with the interlude, repeats it, drawing out the time to build up the courage to continue again. Kurt shifts closer beside him, wraps an arm around him and rests his chin on his shoulder. Tangible. Comforting. Reassuring. 

_“There is a door that opens at the sight of your face,_ _  
_ _I feel it all, I feel the warmth of every long summer day._ _  
_ _And like an angel, you circle back with a kiss,_ _  
_ _You are the one I'm dreaming of, you are the one, you are the one._ _  
_ _You lift me up with every step that I take,_ _  
_ _You are the reason, you're the answer when I'm drifting away._  
_And through it all, when I start making a mess,_ _  
_ You are forgiving, everlasting. You're my everything.”

The warmth of Kurt’s breath raises the hairs on the back of his neck. When Kurt’s lips press into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder the notes start to get sloppy, crescendoing and decrescendoing when a wave of goosebumps runs its course throughout his entire body. He abandons the keys, voice so low that some of the sound cuts out as he half-whispers a fragmented collection of the remaining lyrics.

_“You are the one who holds my heart._  
_When you come home I feel the earth start to change,  
_ _I am alive, I am alive— there is a reason to stay.”_

They sit in the stillness for a while, Kurt’s arms fastened loosely around Blaine’s waist, with only the distant muffled sounds of the city coming to life in the early hours of a Friday night to keep them company. Unlike the bustling renegades of New York City, there is no sense of urgency or obligation between them tonight. Blaine sinks back against Kurt’s chest, sluggish and exhausted, but he knows the night is nowhere near its finale. The song was merely an introduction, a segue into the next section of the grand orchestral piece. 

“I remember telling you once that I’m not good at romance,” Blaine breaks the silence. “That I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to this.”

“Probably the biggest lie you’ve ever told,” Kurt responds affably. Blaine can hear the tentativeness as he tries to keep the conversation light and playful and knows he is trying to work out just where he is headed with this train of thought. 

“Is it though?” 

“Blaine, you are probably the most romantic person I know. I used to think I was the hopeless romantic in this relationship, but you definitely have me beat.” 

“I hate that phrase,” Blaine says indignantly, trying to shrink back against him more, but there is nowhere else to go. Kurt deciphers his body language and embraces him tighter. “Hopeless romantic— why does it have to be a _hopeless_ romantic?” 

“It’s just a phrase. Of course you aren’t hopeless,” Kurt begins pressing kisses to wherever he can reach again. Blaine closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the couch cushion. Maybe Kurt was right. Maybe a week without intimacy really was far too long. The soft desperate whine that falls from his lips as Kurt continues to litter his neck with delicate kisses definitely suggests as much. 

“Kurt, can we—”

“Soon,” Kurt says. “We aren’t done talking yet.” He sucks the skin at the base of Blaine’s neck between his teeth and gnaws gently and Blaine can feel the slight upturn of his lips against his skin as he lets a sharp, breathless exhale slip out. 

“Well, I don’t know how well I’ll be able to concentrate if you keep—” Kurt moves his head away, only centimeters but he may as well have relocated himself across the room. Blaine scoots closer, practically sitting on his lap again now and whines, “No, no, no! Come back!”

“How about we play a game?” Kurt replaces his lips on Blaine’s neck and runs his tongue over the reddened bite mark. 

“What kind of game?” Blaine rasps out, shivering as a new wave of goosebumps breaks out. 

“A game of trust and honesty,” Kurt raises his head to whisper against Blaine’s ear. Blaine turns ever so slightly to face him, their noses touching, vision blurred and unfocused at such a close distance. 

“Sounds like truth or truth instead of truth or dare. What are the rules?” He asks apprehensively.

“I’ll ask a question, you give me an honest answer. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but if you do you can tell me what to do next,” Kurt replies. At Blaine’s continued exhibition of hesitation he adds, “We can even take turns, if it makes you more comfortable. You can ask me anything you want.” 

Blaine tilts forward, resting his forehead against Kurt’s and hesitates before he nods a fraction of an inch. “Okay. Who goes first?” 

“I’ll ask first,” He leans back and Blaine falters in the absence of his support before adjusting, back straight against the couch cushion. Kurt twists sideways, shoulder against the couch back and places one hand over Blaine’s. “Why did you pick that song?” 

Blaine furrows his brows, tilts his head slightly, caught off guard. The song choice seemed self-explanatory. “Because it makes me think of you.” 

Kurt doesn’t ask, he says, “Elaborate.”

Blaine squirms, doesn’t understand. Didn’t he listen to the lyrics? What more is there to say? Kurt merely smiles back at him, interlocks their fingers, and waits. 

“Well, I guess because that’s how I feel with you. You make me feel safe. You remind me what it is to truly be alive and without you I feel,” He stops, throat suddenly tight. 

_Lost. I feel so lost without you sometimes._

“Feel what, honey?” Kurt prompts softly. 

“Lost.” The word sounds small and fragile when he says it and yet it feels so heavy now that it is out in the open. But Kurt shows no indication of surprise at the confession. On the contrary, he seems pleased, as though this is exactly what he was hoping to hear. 

“Why?” He rubs his thumb into the back of Blaine’s hand.

“Because,” Blaine starts and stops again. Talking used to feel so effortless between them before he had created this rift. Ever since their breakup every word has come carefully selected with the fear that it will be the absolute wrong thing to say. Just because Kurt has agreed to marry him, that does not mean he cannot still change his mind. And what if he does? Blaine cannot even bear to think about that. “Because you make me feel like I am really worth something when I can’t remember why. You gave me— us, you gave _us_ another chance and I am so afraid of fucking it up all over again because you are the best thing to ever happen to me and I can’t… lose you again. I can’t go back to being alone and just _pretending_ to be brave because everyone expects it of me.” 

He feels winded by the end of it. One question in and already the endeavour feels draining. Kurt’s expression is unreadable when Blaine summons the courage to look him in the eyes. Is that… fear? He lifts one leg, drapes it over Blaine’s lap and leans forward to kiss him. Blaine kisses back hungrily, desperately. 

“Tell me what you want and then it’s your turn to ask,” Kurt whispers against his lips. Blaine swallows, already half-hard from the simple act of kissing. With the weight of an entire day of silent brooding being lifted, his body cannot help but remind him just how desperately he needs to be touched. Needs to be needed. How many questions will they have to get through first though? 

“Bite my neck again, harder this time though,” He requests. And Kurt obliges. He allows himself to be swept in it for the moment, palm riding over Kurt’s thigh as he feels the gentle brush of teeth and tongue over his skin before he sucks and bites and _fuck_ that feels good. Too soon though, he stops and Blaine wants to whine and protest but remembers what he is waiting for. Right. A question. Something he is afraid to ask, but wants to anyways. That _look_ in his eyes… Okay. Truth time. He can do this. 

“Does that scare you? What I just said.”

“A little bit,” Kurt does not even hesitate, which does nothing to quell Blaine’s nerves. It feels like a slap in the face, affirming all of his fears to be true after all. A strange swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach leaves him looking crestfallen, but Kurt slides a hand up to caress his cheek and continues. “I think you use me to define yourself and measure your worth a lot of the time, and that’s the part that scares me sometimes. I don’t want you to need me to tell you that you are enough, I want you to feel it because _you_ know it. And I have a funny feeling that this is something you’ve been doing long before we ever met.” 

Kurt holds his face there, eyes soft and intense. Blaine’s lip quivers, eyes darting wildly as he searches Kurt’s face. Searches for what? He is not wrong. Deep down, he knows he is absolutely right. For as long as he can remember he has tethered himself to the attention of others, weighing his worth in compliments and just being _noticed_ at all. Kurt had just been the first one to take it a step further, to love him in all the ways a human being could be loved, to make him feel _seen_ and needed and _wanted_. He does not know how to verbalise this though, so instead he asks, “What do you want me to do?” 

“Take off your sweater and your shirt.” 

“Shouldn’t we move to—”

“Rachel has rehearsal all night, she won’t be back for a while.”

Blaine’s eyes automatically dart to the door but he nods stiffly and works the sweater over his head. He moves his hands to the base of his shirt, pauses and swallows. Yes, Kurt does not want him to feel insecure around him. But one conversation is not going to fix that. With the way they’re sitting on the couch, with the lights completely on— Blaine is completely aware of how he will look once that shirt comes off. Kurt presses a kiss to his cheek and slides his hands over Blaine’s, murmuring, “This too, my beautiful boy.” Pink in the face, Blaine licks his lips and allows Kurt to help him lift the shirt over his head. He tries to sit up straighter, keeping his eyes on Kurt to distract from the way his stomach protrudes and hangs over the edge of his pants. 

“Your turn,” Blaine says, throat taut, so the words come strained and thick. 

Kurt languidly drags his fingertips over his bare chest, just drinking him in for a moment. He rests his palm over Blaine’s heart before he asks, soft and loving and gentle as he possibly can, “Why do you think I would just get up and leave you? Where does that come from?”

It’s immediately evident why Kurt has positioned his hand over his chest when Blaine instinctively tries to sit forward, ready to stand and pace and will himself to vanish because, remind him again— why do they have to be doing this right now? Why can they not just be naked and sweaty and rutting against each other, drowning out the need for words and difficult conversations between desperate kisses and breathless moans in the dark? 

_You were right, we talk too much._

Kurt’s hand moves deftly over his chest, warm and reassuring, and his voice comes as eloquently and unwavering as it has all night, “Remember, you can skip, but I hope that you don’t.” 

How is he supposed to just shut him down after that now? It is a request, not an obligation, but Blaine wants to please him, wants to make him proud. Because what does their relationship even mean if he is too afraid to speak to his own husband-to-be about the horrible things he has only whispered within his own head for years and years and years? 

_We’re getting married. He wants to marry you. The hard part is over. He said yes. Just let him in._

“Because,” He inhales sharply, exhales it into a long trembling breath and holds his hand over Kurt’s, pressing harder against his chest. Kurt nudges himself closer, wraps his other arm around his shoulders and draws him in. “Because everyone else does, so it feels like it’s only a matter of time before you do too.” 

“This has to do with your family, doesn’t it?” 

And of course Kurt knows already. Of course he has just been waiting for Blaine, _stupid_ Blaine, to come forward and finally say it. How can he possibly have been this clueless? Despite the recent miscommunications and misunderstandings, the missteps in their natural abilities to decipher each other’s body language with nothing more than a glance of understanding, how could he ever think that Kurt would not know how to trace the root of all of it with such precision that he may as well just write the instruction manual on how to operate Blaine Devon Anderson? 

“How stereotypical, right?” Blaine asks, partly because he does not know how else to respond, but mostly because he is soberly aware of the fact that he is sitting here, shirtless and defenseless, ready to cry for what feels like the thousandth time in the past week and just wants to maintain the shattered art of deflection. Sardonic and dizzy and bitter and angry with himself for bottling it up for so long when it was always in plain sight to begin with, he can’t help but think— _So much time wasted. And for what?_

“Stop that,” Kurt says quietly, tone so serious it feels like a kick straight to the ribs. Kurt was usually the one to crack a joke, humour cynical and so biting that he could take the edge off of anything. But then again, that was usually reserved for his own tragedies. Today has not been about laughing away the pain and self-deprecation, he has tried to make it something more. “Don’t make it less than it is. It’s something that matters to you, don’t make it a joke.” 

“Sorry,” Blaine says, a pre-programmed response that makes Kurt’s brows furrow in what can only be perceived as disapproval. He simply shakes his head though, runs both hands over Blaine’s bare chest and varies his gaze, eyes darting back and forth between Blaine’s lips and eyes. 

“You barely talk about them. I don’t know if you even still talk _to_ them.” 

Blaine moves to fold his arms over his chest, another defensive play that Kurt refuses to yield to. He moves his leg off of Blaine, drops it to the floor and then he’s tugging and coaxing and murmuring affections until Blaine is situated on his lap, their torsos pressed firm. The material from his sweater is scratchy and rough against Blaine’s bare skin and he thinks, desperately, _Please just take that off and fuck me until I forget._

“Do you?” Kurt asks delicately. 

Blaine swallows and the words come out thick as molasses, “Coop, sometimes, if I call him. My parents,” He licks his lips, shimmies down against Kurt’s lap so he can hide his face into the crook of his neck. With arms firmly around his waist, he presses fingertips into his back, that damn scratchy sweater, he just wants to rip it off of him and beg and beg and beg— _make me forget, just make me forget._ “My mom texted me when I first moved to New York to ask if I made it, I haven’t heard from her since.” 

“And your dad?” Kurt probes cautiously. 

A pause. Blaine spends the next few seconds just breathing against his neck and presses his fingertips down harder. “Fuck my dad,” He finally says, quiet and fragile. It is a wonder the words don’t crack and slice his throat right open on the way up. 

He feels Kurt’s arms, so strong and protective, close tighter around him and maybe it is the silence that follows— because when does Kurt Hummel ever become speechless?— or the way Kurt keeps pulling and squeezing, trying to weld them together as one or the sudden influx of scattered kisses he presses to his forehead, but something in him _shatters_ . His entire body shudders with the riptide of the _sob_ that courses through him, but Kurt just holds him steady, rocks and whispers his little mantra, “I’ve got you, I love you, I’ve got you.” 

“Hate him, I _hate_ him— He’s just— And I’ve never been able to— He hates me, he's always—”

Blaine hiccups and babbles and gasps and cries, unable to pluck one coherent thought from the rush of water now that the dam has finally broken wide open. Kurt presses his lips to his forehead, whispers affections and instructions against his skin, and strokes his hair, his arms, his back— every possible inch of him that exists, Kurt is sliding his hands over, fingertips grazing and pulsing. Drained and dazed from the _weight_ of everything the insane idea enters Blaine’s head— _if you’re looking for the ‘off switch’ I have no idea where it is either._

One shuddering breath collides into the next with no space in between until Kurt is lifting his head, cupping his face between both hands. He tries to twist away, but Kurt’s thumbs stroke his cheeks, hold him steady and Blaine is just so _tired_ he has no strength to fight him.

_Please don’t look at me, I can’t stand it._

“Sweetheart, you’re hyperventilating. You’re gonna pass out if you keep going like this. Just let me help,” Kurt’s thumbs brush over his cheek bones, already red-raw and stinging. Blaine burrows his fingers deep into his back again and barely notices the feel of the sweater he has been scornfully regarding as he nods a few times between Kurt’s hands. 

“O-o-o-k-kay,” He sputters, gasps and cries some more, wishing, again, to just simply disappear. 

“Purse your lips together, I’m gonna count while you breathe,” Kurt kisses his forehead. He closes his eyes, tries to focus on the feel of soft, wet lips against his skin and nods again. He makes it to three on the trembling exhale before breathing in, sharp and quick. Thumbs against skin, lips against forehead, they reset. Kurt continues kissing his way across his face between murmured instructions, lips planting invisible X-marks-the-spots all over the raw geography of familiar terrain like it still needs to be thoroughly explored and mapped out. Blaine has been so focused on following his voice, desperate to latch onto each whispered command, he does not realise his breathing has slowed until their lips are finally touching. He lets Kurt take control, allows himself to be cared for and coddled and carefully handled like he is actually a broken sheet of glass filled with cracks, bound to shatter at the slightest hint of pressure. 

Lips still pressed together, he whispers into Kurt’s mouth, “I feel like such a mess.”

“My beautiful boy,” Kurt breathes back and it is a conscious effort on his part not to just start crying again because _fuck_ , he feels anything but beautiful right now. “We can stop for now, if you want. I know that was a lot.” 

“No, I want to tell you. I–I know that I just… shut down sometimes, but I want you to know. It’s just,” Blaine leans backwards enough to look him in the eyes. “It’s hard for me to talk about these things.” 

“I know,” Kurt’s thumb brushes his cheek again and Blaine leans into the touch. “Take your time.” 

“I feel like I don’t even know him, you know?” 

Kurt just watches him, one hand still caressing his face and the other rubbing gentle circles into his back. Kurt doesn’t know. Kurt will never know. Blaine releases a shaky exhale before continuing. 

“He was never home, always working. And when he _was_ home it’s like we were living on two different planes of existence, I felt _invisible_ around him. He hasn’t been able to see me for a very long time. And my mom has just been so checked out— honestly, she’s been a mess for as long as I can remember. It was just— It wasn’t a happy home, Kurt. Cooper got out the second that he could, and I can’t really blame him for it. Even though we didn’t always get along and he was _constantly_ trying to show me up, it was really lonely without him. I didn’t have a lot of friends at school, there was no Glee club— no safe space for anyone who was gay. It was just me and one other kid who were publicly out.”

“The one you went to the dance with?” Kurt asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Blaine nuzzles his neck and breathes in deep. “Afterwards he told his parents going to the dance together was my idea, and it was, and that was it. They didn’t want us being friends anymore, they blamed me for what happened and he just… walked away. Well, I think they moved, but he just stopped talking to me.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been— I’m sorry,” Kurt kisses the top of his head. 

“My parents shipped me off to Dalton after that. I didn’t even want to go at first, if you can believe that.”

“Really?”

“Really. A boarding school with a dress code and a bunch of snobby rich kids? I was _dreading_ it. But it became home. They didn’t care that I was gay, they accepted me right away. Then joining the Warblers? There were so many times I was convinced I was just in a coma and dreaming the entire thing up. We were treated like rockstars, it was the first time I felt good about myself in a long time.”

“Now I feel bad for making all those snarky remarks about everyone just being back-up singers to you,” Kurt says, earning a quiet laugh from Blaine. 

“Well, you weren’t wrong. You were right to call it out. The whole reason I fell in love with being a Warbler was because everyone had an equal say, I just got so swept up in finally being noticed that I lost sight of the fact that there were probably some other guys that wanted to be noticed too. You kept my ego from overinflating.”

“You seemed like the most confident person in the world to me when we first met,” Kurt says. “I never would have guessed you struggled with _any_ self-esteem issues.”

Blaine shrugs nonchalantly and presses a kiss to his neck. “You didn’t know because I didn’t want anyone to know. We didn’t… talk about feelings at my house. You started bringing that out in me, making me believe I didn’t always have to hide and pretend. But I lose sight of that sometimes, I guess. It’s easier to just shut down and bottle it up, but you’re right… I have to be able to come to you, _we_ have to be able to come to each other. I’m— I’ll be better, I promise I will.”

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me. I’ve been able to guess at some of it for a while now, but hearing you finally say it— I’m proud of you. I always want you to feel safe with me, so I hope that you do talk to me more about things like this that are bothering you.”

Blaine nods against his shoulder, eyes stinging and blurring. He does not know why he expected anything other than absolute understanding and compassion from him, why it was so difficult to force the words out in the first place. 

“Do you want to keep talking?” 

_Make me forget. Love me and don’t let me go and just make me forget everything else._

“I think I need a break from talking. I just need you, I—”

And then Kurt is kissing him and Blaine is kissing back like it is the first time all over again. He catches Kurt’s lips with his teeth, sloppy and hungry and _desperate_ to be as close to him as possible because the great gaping canyon in his chest demands to be filled. _Please! Please! Please!_ His heart thumps away the greedy melody and when Kurt pulls away, widening that endless cavern, he actually _whines_ . But Kurt is tugging at the sleeves of his sweater— normally a _crime_ , you always pull from the collar, he constantly tells Blaine— and Blaine’s hands hurry forward to help him strip it away. 

Blaine has watched him while he works out, has witnessed firsthand the care and consistency and the _effort_ behind those hardened muscles in his arms and chest and oh god those _abs_. He is like a living statue and Blaine is the only one privy to the private viewing of his full display of perfection. How could he let his stupid insecurities keep him from this? 

“You’re staring.”

Without even looking Blaine can tell he’s smirking. “Can you blame me?” 

He looks up to see another playful smirk, and that Kurt is staring right back at him, lower lip ever so slightly tucked in beneath his teeth. _Fuck_.

“So,” Kurt says, voice low and husky. “You still have to tell me what you want me to do next.”

_Make me forget. Make me forget._

“Take control,” Blaine says softly. When Kurt’s hand travels up his thigh to fiddle with the button of his pants, he rasps out, “I’m all yours, take control.”

The caress of lips against his jaw, the ice cool touch of smooth fingers dipping below his waist band, teasing and exploring— Blaine closes his eyes and surrenders himself to sensation. Who needs pretty words when he has the tender touch of a lover’s fingertips to ignite bursts of starlight beneath his skin? Kurt’s hands find his and the gentle pull against them forces his eyes open where he finds Kurt ushering him off of his lap. He shifts off and allows himself to be lifted as Kurt stands, eyes alight with curiosity and wonder until Kurt’s mouth is on his again and he is lost, lost, lost once more. 

Kissing Kurt is everything. Early November and his lips are slightly chapped, leaving only the faintest hint of his current favourite chapstick. It reminds Blaine of their nights nestled up by the fireplace in Dalton, coffees from the school cafeteria in hand and stealing vanilla and mocha flavoured kisses in between every break in conversation. He forgets that they are standing in the middle of Kurt’s living room, forgets that they are drifting through borrowed space as Rachel or even Santana, devious in her ways of sneaking around, could waltz in at any minute despite Kurt’s insistence that they won’t. As Kurt hooks his thumbs into belt loops and draws him closer, both of their bodies desperate for the heat and friction, he forgets about his insecurities and doubts. There is only the handsome man before him and nothing else in the world matters. 

Lips locked, Kurt navigates them towards his bedroom. Neither of them wants to disentangle from each other long enough to lead, Blaine just has to trust him not to let him trip. His knees hit the edge of the bed and buckle, but Kurt grips his hips, digs his fingernails in and grinds their bodies together until they’re both moaning into the kiss. His pants feel unmanageably tight at this point now. 

“Kurt—” 

“Working on it,” Kurt kisses his way down to his neck, teeth gnawing sweetly until first the button, then the zipper and Blaine’s suddenly being pushed backwards onto the bed. He hastily props himself up on his elbows, panting softly, eyes lust blown and following Kurt’s every move. He’s kneeling down in front of the bed, yanking Blaine’s pants off from around his ankles now and every second feels like it is being stretched too long. Finally free though, his cock bounces against his stomach, throbbing and _aching_ by the time Kurt settles between his legs. Blaine’s eyes dart to the bedside table, hand just starting to reach out when Kurt bends over and curls his fingers around his cock, flicking his tongue over the head before sucking hard. He pulls his mouth off with a faint _pop!_ and brushes his thumb over the underside of the head.

“F-Fuck,” Blaine trembles, arm outstretched, its purpose completely forgotten. “You’re right, a week was too long.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Kurt says and takes him completely into his mouth, palm cupping his balls.

“Jesus— Fuck!” Blaine instantly bucks his hips and fills the spaces between his fingers with Kurt’s hair, breathless as he quickly adds, “Sorry, are you—”

Kurt hums his response and hollows his cheeks, breathes in through his nose and takes him further down. They have just barely gotten started and already Blaine feels himself coming undone. He struggles to keep his hips steady, but Kurt is moving torturously slow through all of this until he just stops moving his head altogether, mouth very much still full of Blaine’s cock and he could honestly _scream_ because how dare he just stop like that—

Oh. 

Blaine knows what he wants. 

“Please,” The word comes hungry, breathless and on the verge of a whine. “Please, I need you, please—”

And Kurt’s head moves backwards, sucking as he goes until he reaches the tip of Blaine’s cock, where he flicks his tongue over it playfully. Blaine balls up the sheets of the mattress in his other fist and tugs on that instead of Kurt’s hair, the quiet desperate moans falling out of him like whispered secrets in the night. Kurt pulls his mouth off of him again, turns his head and kisses the inside of his thigh, before biting down and sucking. Blaine hisses in a breath, knuckles turning white, and lets Kurt mark him.

_Yours, I’m yours, and no one else’s._

There is a moment when Kurt pulls away to rummage through the nightstand when Blaine cannot help but to stare again. How far they have come from the shy teenager who could not even look him directly in the eyes when discussing pornography. He remembers so vividly the day Kurt lamented he would never see himself as _sexy_ , the word whispered with such discomfort like it was dirty and inconceivable. It was the day they were practicing in the mirror, Kurt had been trying _so hard_ to get the look right but ultimately kept shying away, embarrassed and self-conscious with the effort, saying Blaine just made it look so easy. Neither of them had a clue what they were doing, but disguises had always come easy for Blaine. Now, Kurt looks up at him, dark-eyed, mouth slightly parted before that devilish smirk takes over again, and Blaine is weak and breathless beneath his gaze. How the times do certainly change. 

Kurt’s fingers are already coated in lube when he starts kissing Blaine’s thigh again and circles one finger around the tight ring of muscles. Blaine wants to rush ahead, squirms his hips down and Kurt tuts disapprovingly, leaving him to lie still once again and wait patiently at his mercy. He really can be such a goddamn tease sometimes. But he does not make him wait long before sliding one finger in, stroking and twisting, until Blaine pants, “More, please, more.”

He takes his time, adds another finger and scissors and stretches him as Blaine squirms and begs beneath his touch. Only two fingers in and Blaine is beginning to completely unravel, hips involuntarily jerking up as Kurt strokes and twists and kisses and bites, leaving tiny reddened marks all along his thighs. It never takes Kurt long to find that sweet spot, and sure enough Blaine is arching his back and panting as his fingers continue to brush over and massage his prostate. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers and when he pats the side of Blaine's leg and tells him to sit up he cannot help but whine loudly in protest. 

“So impatient,” Kurt says, eyes twinkling with amusement as he settles himself against the headboard and tugs until Blaine is positioned above his lap. Kurt’s in control, but he knows this is Blaine’s favourite position.

“Condom?” Blaine’s thighs are already shaking as he holds himself up.

“I trust you,” Kurt replies, bringing his hands up to cup his face, voice so low and sultry it is a wonder Blaine doesn’t just stagger into his orgasm right on the spot. “And I want you to feel it.”

_What did I do to deserve you?_

Blaine groans into the kiss as Kurt strokes himself, coating his cock with lube before he holds it firm for him to lower himself down onto. The sweet heat and friction already feels like it is almost too much to bear. There is no way he is going to last like this, and they both know it. He positions his hands on Kurt’s chest, sinks all the way down and pants loudly against his mouth, pausing to let himself adjust before rising up again. Kurt relocates his hands to his hips, fingernails digging in and helping him rise and fall, their rhythm slow and synchronized. It doesn’t take long before it becomes more sporadic and urgent, Kurt’s hips bucking up as Blaine’s thighs tremble and burn to match his rhythm until he’s hitting just that right spot again. He _yelps_ his moan, fingernails burrowing into Kurt’s skin.

“There, there, there— right there!” Blaine exhales quickly, winded and sweaty as he clenches and shakes. With the way Kurt’s gripping his hips he knows there are going to bruises where the thumbs sink in. The thought of it alone sends a rush of heat up his spine that erupts as another breathless gasp.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Kurt groans out. “ _So_ fucking gorgeous.”

Blaine’s laugh comes out half-strangled as he gyrates his hips faster, thighs trembling violently as he slams one palm against the headboard to keep himself balanced. “So are you, fuck, so are you. So—” Kurt slides his hands down, cups his ass and quickens his thrusts, throwing the rest of Blaine’s thoughts to the wind as he all but crashes his head forward against the headboard and cries out. He becomes acutely aware of Kurt’s mouth against his chest, of his tongue circling his nipple, but barely registers Kurt’s breathy laugh, “Sorry, you okay?” 

“Don’t stop,” Blaine breathes back. “Don’t stop, don’t— fuck, you feel so good.”

Kurt sucks on his nipple as Blaine’s breath hitches, heavy and desperate. Kurt slips one hand down and closes it around his cock, earning another loud strangled sound somewhere between an exhale and an actual word. 

“You’re perfect, you’re so perfect— Kurt, fuck I’m gonna—”

Kurt works his hand faster, hips bucking wildly as Blaine cries out again, stars exploding behind his eyes as he comes. Kurt cups his ass again, squeezing and panting heavily against his neck as he keeps thrusting, chasing his own orgasm only seconds later. Blaine’s legs give out, leaving Kurt’s firm grip on his ass, his hips still jerking upwards sporadically, as his only support. Blaine keeps his eyes closed, fingers curled tightly around Kurt’s shoulders and forehead resting against the headboard, as Kurt finally slows to a stop. He does not want to move, does not want Kurt to pull away and leave him feeling empty again. As though reading his mind, Kurt holds him there, pressing lazy kisses to sweat soaked skin as Blaine’s body continues to tremble. 

“God, I missed you,” Kurt whispers, raising his head enough to kiss his neck. 

“I love you,” Blaine rasps out. “So much. More than anything.” 

Kurt feigns a dramatic gasp, lips brushing against his neck and tickling him. “Surely not more than hair gel.”

The smile on Blaine’s face almost hurts before they both break out into laughter. 

“Need some help?” Kurt squeezes his ass playfully, earning a soft, sleepy moan. 

“My legs don’t work anymore,” Blaine laughs breathlessly, limbs heavy and useless. Their earlier conversation feels like a lifetime ago. 

“I’ve got you,” Kurt says soothingly, lips back against his neck. 

In the post-orgasm haze Blaine is barely aware of their movements as he comes to settle down beside him, limbs tangled and still desperate for touch. Kurt wipes cum off of his stomach with a tissue— Blaine cannot help but think about the midnight trip to the laundromat they will most likely be taking to salvage the sheets— before he draws him in close, those strong arms like a promise and a safety blanket. It is moments like these he loves the most, where the world stops spinning and they are frozen in a perfect carefree moment of mutual adoration and comfort within each other’s arms. 

“I’m sorry about your dad, about all of that,” Kurt suddenly says softly, jarring him from the temporary peace. 

“Not your fault,” Blaine mumbles, snuggling in closer to him as though melding their bodies together physically will drive away the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness starting to creep in all over again. 

“Do you actually hate him?” 

“No, of course I don’t. I just wish,” Blaine sighs and presses a kiss to his chest, arm curling tighter around Kurt’s waist to keep himself tethered down. “I just want him to be proud of me and it really hurts that he’s not, that I basically don’t exist to him.”

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Hmm?” Blaine asks distractedly. 

“Have you ever thought about talking to someone?” 

“What do you mean?” Blaine shifts his head, too lazy to actually lift it off of his chest, and settles his eyes on Kurt’s jaw. 

“Like a therapist,” Kurt says carefully. Involuntarily, Blaine stiffens between his arms. “Have you ever thought about that?”

Blaine sluggishly drags his hand over Kurt’s chest, fingers tracing invisible patterns. Kurt tilts his head down, nose pressed to his loosely gelled hair and breathes in deep before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I might have,” Blaine whispers, heart thudding violently now. Kurt has been nothing but understanding and patient, yet the anxiety still clutches tightly and forces him to want to retreat and hide. 

“Maybe you should,” Kurt says gently. 

“Maybe,” Blaine parrots quietly.

“I’m not suggesting something is wrong with you,” Kurt adds, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

_How could you tell?_

“It just might be good to talk to someone unbiased, don’t you think?”

Blaine continues trailing his fingers over Kurt’s chest, silent and pensive. He had certainly contemplated the idea plenty of times in the past, never sure of where to even begin. After the attack at the dance, when Kurt moved away, when they broke up— every time he had come remotely close to researching, shame and panic had chased the idea away. 

“Say something?” Kurt asks softly and runs his fingers through his hair, far more pliable now that the gel has been somewhat dissolved by sweat.

Blaine’s hand stills against his chest and he props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at him. There is no judgement on his face. Those eyes like endless oceans of concern and compassion. Everything about his expression screams _I see you, I love you and I see you._

“You’ll uh,” Blaine starts and struggles to hold his gaze, his first instinct telling him to stare at anything other than his eyes. “Will you help me look for one?”

“Of course I will. We’re a team, aren’t we?” 

The smile on his face makes Blaine’s heart beat just a little faster, but there is no feeling of shame behind it. “Yes. We’re a team.” 

He settles down in Kurt’s arms again, but silence between them never lasts long. It is only a matter of moments before Kurt’s speaking again. “Have you ever heard of Kintsugi?”

Blaine furrows his brows and tilts his head up towards him again. He is always full of these random little tidbits of information. “No? What’s that?”

“It’s a phrase used in Japan. It’s the art of mending broken pottery.”

“Okay?” Blaine trails the word out, the tickle in the back of his throat not quite a laugh just yet. He usually has a point when he brings things like this up, but sometimes he does not. Right now it is not obvious which side of that line he is on.

“Instead of using clear glue, they use powdered gold or silver, usually gold. So when they put the pieces back together, they’re not trying to hide the fact that it was broken. The process of being broken and repaired is part of its history, and they choose to highlight and display that fact by turning it into something new with these golden scars to show for it. I think that’s beautiful, don’t you?”

“So, are you calling me broken pottery?” Blaine asks, the laugh finally breaking free.

“No,” Kurt replies, placing two fingers on his chin to tilt his head up. “You’re a perfect work of art with a history to show for it.”

And as he leans forward, eager to press their lips together and soak up as much of him as humanly possible, Blaine thinks, _And you are the artist._

**Author's Note:**

> The song Blaine sings is [When You Come Home by Mree](https://youtu.be/G73m17ZiEJ4), which instantly made me think of our boys when I first heard it. 
> 
> I don't remember where I first learned about Kintsugi, but I became absolutely obsessed with it. To be able to take something broken, mend it and showcase all of its imperfections as something beautiful and apart of its history... just something about that really hit close to home for me. [Here is one example.](https://i0.wp.com/esprit-kintsugi.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Diapositive5.jpg?resize=608%2C400&ssl=1)Take some time to google image search some pieces, they are absolutely breathtaking. And I think it is a perfect metaphor for how we can come to deal with our own traumas. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.


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